Макс Коллинз: No One Will Hear You

She stood, stepped out of her dress, in nothing but sheer panties, with her hand outstretched to her host.

The SWAT team neared the house, staying low and quiet, half going to the front, the rest circling around the back.

Anna brought up the rear, with Harrow trailing at McClellan’s request. A TV star getting shot on a raid would not be a career-booster for the SWAT leader.

They crept closer to the door; then one of the officers lost his balance, his gun barrel scraping aluminum siding.

Everybody froze.

They were walking hand in hand across the cool living room floor, school kids again despite the hot-and-heavy on the sofa, Vince with his shirt off and in his socks, Anna in her panties.

A noise outside the house spooked them both.

Vince released her hand and went to the picture window, and peeked behind the curtains.

“Nothing,” he said, and shrugged. “Kids.”

“Whatever it was, sounded close.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He undid his trousers, stepped out of them, leaving them behind as he returned to guide the slightly wobbly woman to the bedroom.

The assault force waited.

Long, terrible, heartbeat-pounding moments passed, a living but not breathing freeze frame.

Then McClellan used hand signals, counting down, Three... two... one ...

... and two team members with a battering ram crushed the front door in.

As if an echo, the sound of another ram breaching the door in back told Harrow these men knew what the hell they were doing.

When the team stormed in, Anna and Harrow were right behind them, and both the LAPD detective and the UBC host had handguns ready.

They met the other half of the team where the dining and living rooms met. Nothing in those rooms.

SWAT officers moved room to room, shouts of “Clear!” ringing through the bungalow.

McClellan shook his head. “Nobody home.”

“Damn it,” Harrow said. “Damn car’s here!”

Anna said, “Well, he isn’t.”

Nonetheless, Anna brought Polk in and they took advantage of the warrant to search the place. McClellan rounded his people up outside. They would not go till Anna released them.

Harrow bummed a smoke off McClellan and got his cell out, to bring Jenny up to speed.

But before he hit speed dial, the phone vibrated, Jenny beating him to the punch.

“Boss,” she said, and her voice had a new brittle energy, “are you at St. James’s?”

“Yes. Nobody home.”

“Goddamnit!”

Coming from Jenny, that outburst hit him like a board.

“I think Carmen is in trouble.”

Was she crying?

“Settle down, Jen. What?”

“I was fooling with Photoshop, changing hair and eye color on the Louis St. James website — there was something familiar about him, those prominent cheekbones. I’m pretty sure Louis St. James is Vince Clay.”

“Who is Vince Clay?”

“Carmen’s boyfriend. She’s out with him right now.”

“Shit.”

“And she’s not answering her cell.”

“Shit!”

“What do we do?”

“You keep digging — find out anything you can. Did you leave Carmen a voice mail?”

“Yes.”

“What did you say?”

“Just ‘Call Jenny. It’s urgent.’ I didn’t know if somebody might be listening.”

“Good. Now get me something.”

He clicked off, then hit Carmen’s number, got voice mail, left a message that there’d been a break in the Don Juan case and she was needed back ASAP.

His cell vibrated in his hand again — JENNY.

“I have Vince Clay’s address,” she said. No emotion now. All business.

She gave it to him. It was way across the city.

Anna emerged from the house to see what Harrow was up to.

He filled her in.

“I know that part of town,” she said. “Damn — take us over an hour to get there, if there’s any traffic at all. We’ll bring in the locals.”

“I want to be there.”

“So do I. Any ideas?”

He frowned. “Maybe one... Let’s take your car.”

“Where to?”

“Toward that address.”

Soon they were in the Crown Vic, leaving Polk behind. Anna put the rollers on but no siren. Harrow was on his cell.

“Dennis, I need the local affiliate’s traffic helicopter.”

The executive didn’t fool around — Harrow’s tone said not to. “All right. Want to tell me why?”

Harrow quickly filled him in.

“I’m on it,” Byrnes said. “But you’re coming back next season.”

That actually got a smile out of Harrow. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Harrow clicked off, and Anna said, “Helicopter, huh? Where you gonna have it land?”

“You tell me.”

She thought. “Fallbrook Mall. We passed it on the way.”

Harrow got Byrnes back, and gave him the address. The exec said the copter would be in the parking lot by the time they got there.

It was.

They left the unmarked car in the lot and ran into the wind of the chopper blades. Harrow and Amari climbed in, and the pilot, a seasoned vet with the confidence and smile of a retired astronaut, said, “J.C. Harrow! Welcome aboard — where to?”

“Whittwood Mall in Whittier,” Anna said.

As the chopper rose and swung southeast, Harrow called Jenny.

“Laurene and Billy are on their way back from Westwood,” she said. “They can meet you.”

“Good,” he said, yelling over the noise, and told her where.

The pilot was pushing the helicopter, the city a glittery blur below. No question they were moving fast.

But fast enough?

When the helicopter descended into the parking lot of the Whittwood Mall, Harrow could see Choi’s BMW M6 convertible, top down, tearing through the lot. The copter touched pavement as Choi and Chase screeched to a stop. Harrow and Anna climbed from the chopper, its churning blades whipping up wind and a deafening din.

The pilot yelled, “Happy hunting,” as the craft lifted while Harrow and Anna ran to the convertible, and piled over the sides in the back.

The copter was still close enough that Anna had to scream the address, but Choi merely nodded.

As they approached the mall stoplight, the copter noise already distant, Choi said, “You’re gonna have to guide me.”

Anna said, “No problem. Run the light and take a left.”

Choi did, then said, “I’m not a cop anymore. No siren or rollers.”

“I got a badge,” Anna said. “Break all the laws you want.”

“Came to the right guy.”

The convertible tore down the street toward Vince Clay’s neighborhood, weaving in and around startled traffic.

In the back, Harrow thought, Hang on, Carmen, hang on , even as he hung on himself, Choi swerving around a car whose occupants didn’t have time to swear at them before the BMW rocketed round the next corner.

Vince Clay led Carmen Garcia into a dimly lit room with a big brass bed, a mirror on the wall to its left, and a nightstand with a vase of a dozen roses.

Her first thought was: How romantic .

Her second thought was: Black Pearl roses!

Even in the vague light of a shaded table lamp, Carmen recognized the distinctive flowers, and all wooziness drained away as the pieces fell in place and she only hoped the sirens screaming in her brain didn’t show in her expression.

“What’s the matter?” Vince asked.

What’s the matter? I’m standing here in my panties with a serial killer at my side!

“Nothing,” she said, and in that moment she had a choice — going into full-on panic or survival mode.

She kissed him. She put all the acting skills she’d developed over the last year as an on-air personality and forced passion and love into it, though she knew she was kissing a monster, knew she had been a fool but also that she couldn’t afford to be a fool any longer...